All's for the Best

Is he A Christian?

“IS he a Christian?”

The question reached my ear as I sat conversing with a friend, and I paused in the sentence I was uttering, to note the answer.

“Oh, yes; he is a Christian,” was replied.

“I am rejoiced to hear you say so.  I was not aware of it before,” said the other.

“Yes; he has passed from death unto life.  Last week, in the joy of his new birth, he united himself to the church, and is now in fellowship with the saints.”

“What a blessed change!”

“Blessed, indeed.  Another soul saved; another added to the great company of those who have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.  There is joy in heaven on his account.”

“Of whom are they speaking?” I asked, turning to my friend.

“Of Fletcher Gray, I believe,” was replied.

“Few men stood more in need of Christian graces,” said I.  “If he is, indeed, numbered with the saints, there is cause for rejoicing.”

“By their fruits ye shall know them,” responded my friend.  “I will believe his claim to the title of Christian, when I see the fruit in good living.  If he have truly passed from death unto life, as they say, he will work the works of righteousness.  A sweet fountain will not send forth bitter waters.”

My friend but expressed my own sentiments in this, and all like cases.  I have learned to put small trust in “profession;” to look past the Sunday and prayer-meeting piety of people, and to estimate religious quality by the standard of the Apostle James.  There must be genuine love of the neighbor, before there can be a love of God; for neighborly love is the ground in which that higher and purer love takes root.  It is all in vain to talk of love as a mere ideal thing.  Love is an active principle, and, according to its quality, works.  If the love be heavenly, it will show itself in good deeds to the neighbor; but, if infernal, in acts of selfishness that disregard the neighbor.

“I will observe this Mr. Gray,” said I, as I walked homeward from the company, “and see whether the report touching him be true.  If he is, indeed, a ‘Christian,’ as they affirm, the Christian graces of meekness and charity will blossom in his life, and make all the air around him fragrant.”

Opportunity soon came.  Fletcher Gray was a store-keeper, and his life in the world was, consequently, open to the observation of all men.  He was likewise a husband and a father.  His relations were, therefore, of a character to give, daily, a test of his true quality.

It was only the day after, that I happened to meet Mr. Gray under circumstances favorable to observation.  He came into the store of a merchant with whom I was transacting some business, and asked the price of certain goods in the market.  I moved aside, and watched him narrowly.  There was a marked change in the expression of his countenance and in the tones of his voice.  The former had a sober, almost solemn expression; the latter was subdued, even to plaintiveness.  But, in a little while, these peculiarities gradually disappeared, and the aforetime Mr. Gray stood there unchanged—­unchanged, not only in appearance, but in character.  There was nothing of the “yea, yea,” and “nay, nay,” spirit in his bargain-making, but an eager, wordy effort to gain an advantage in trade.  I noticed that, in the face of an asservation that only five per cent. over cost was asked for a certain article, he still endeavored to procure it at a lower figure than was named by the seller, and finally crowded him down to the exact cost, knowing as he did, that the merchant had a large stock on hand, and could not well afford to hold it over.

“He’s a sharper!” said the merchant, turning towards me as Gray left the store.

“He’s a Christian, they say,” was my quiet remark.

“A Christian!”

“Yes; don’t you know that he has become religious, and joined the church?”

“You’re joking!”

“Not a word of it.  Didn’t you observe his subdued, meek aspect, when he came in?”

“Why, yes; now that you refer to it, I do remember a certain peculiarity about him.  Become pious!  Joined the church!  Well, I’m sorry!”

“For what?”

“Sorry for the injury he will do to a good cause.  The religion that makes a man a better husband, father, man of business, lawyer, doctor, or preacher, I reverence, for it is genuine, as the lives of those who accept it do testify.  But your hypocritical pretenders I scorn and execrate.”

“It is, perhaps, almost too strong language, this, as applied to Mr. Gray,” said I.

“What is a hypocrite?” asked the merchant.

“A man who puts on the semblance of Christian virtues which he does not possess.”

“And that is what Mr. Gray does when he assumes to be religious.  A true Christian is just.  Was he just to me when he crowded me down in the price of my goods, and robbed me of a living profit, in order that he might secure a double gain?  I think not.  There is not even the live and let live principle in that.  No—­no, sir.  If he has joined the church, my word for it, there is a black sheep in the fold; or, I might say, without abuse of language, a wolf therein disguised in sheep’s clothing.”

“Give the man time,” said I.  “Old habits of life are strong, you know.  In a little while, I trust that he will see clearer, and regulate his life from perceptions of higher truths.”

“I thought his heart was changed,” answered the merchant, with some irony in his tones.  “That he had been made a new creature.”

I did not care to discuss that point with him, and so merely answered,

“The beginnings of spiritual life are as the beginnings of natural life.  The babe is born in feebleness, and we must wait through the periods of infancy, childhood and youth, before we can have the strong man ready for the burden and heat of the day, or full-armed for the battle.  If Mr. Gray is in the first effort to lead a Christian life, that is something.  He will grow wiser and better in time, I hope.”

“There is vast room for improvement,” said the merchant.  “In my eyes he is, at this time, only a hypocritical pretender.  I hope, for the sake of the world and the church both, that his new associates will make something better out of him.”

I went away, pretty much of the merchant’s opinion.  My next meeting with Mr. Gray was in the shop of a mechanic to whom he had sold a bill of goods some months previously.  He had called to collect a portion of the amount which remained unpaid.  The mechanic was not ready for him.

“I am sorry, Mr. Gray” he began, with some hesitation of manner.

“Sorry for what?” sharply interrupted Mr. Gray.

“Sorry that I have not the money to settle your bill.  I have been disappointed——­”

“I don’t want that old story.  You promised to be ready for me to-day, didn’t you?” And Mr. Gray knit his brows, and looked angry and imperative.

“Yes, I promised.  But——­”

“Then keep your promise.  No man has a right to break his word.  Promises are sacred things, and should be kept religiously.”

“If my customers had kept their promises to me there would have been no failure in mine to you,” answered the poor mechanic.

“It is of no use to plead other men’s failings in justification of your own.  You said the bill should be settled to-day, and I calculated upon it.  Now, of all things in the world, I hate trifling.  I shall not call again, sir!”

“If you were to call forty times, and I hadn’t the money to settle your account, you would call in vain,” said the mechanic, showing considerable disturbance of mind.

“You needn’t add insult to wrong.”  Mr. Gray’s countenance reddened, and he looked angry.

“If there is insult in the case it is on your part, not mine,” retorted the mechanic, with more feeling.  “I am not a digger of gold out of the earth, nor a coiner of money.  I must be paid for my work before I can pay the bills I owe.  It was not enough that I told you of the failure of my customers to meet their engagements——­”

“You’ve no business to have such customers,” broke in Mr. Gray.  “No right to take my goods and sell them to men who are not honest enough to pay their bills.”

“One of them is your own son,” replied the mechanic, goaded beyond endurance.  “His bill is equal to half of yours.  I have sent for the amount a great many times, but still he puts me off with excuses.  I will send it to you next time.”

This was thrusting home with a sharp sword, and the vanquished Mr. Gray retreated from the battle-field, bearing a painful wound.

“That wasn’t right in me, I know,” said the mechanic, as Gray left his shop.  “I’m sorry, now, that I said it.  But he pressed me too closely.  I am but human.”

“He is a hard, exacting, money-loving man,” was my remark.

“They tell me he has become a Christian,” said the mechanic.  “Has got religion—­been converted.  Is that so?”

“It is commonly reported; but I think common report must be in error.  St. Paul gives patience, forbearance, long-suffering, meekness, brotherly kindness, and charity as some of the Christian graces.  I do not see them in this man.  Therefore, common report must be in error.”

“I have paid him a good many hundreds of dollars since I opened my shop here,” said the mechanic, with the manner of one who felt hurt.  “If I am a poor, hard-working man, I try to be honest.  Sometimes I get a little behind hand, as I am new, because people I work for don’t pay up as they should.  It happened twice before when I wasn’t just square with Mr. Gray, and he pressed down very hard upon me, and talked just as you heard him to-day.  He got his money, every dollar of it; and he will get his money now.  I did think, knowing that he had joined the church and made a profession of religion, that he would bear a little patiently with me this time.  That, as he had obtained forgiveness, as alleged, of his sins towards heaven, he would be merciful to his fellow-man.  Ah, well!  These things make us very sceptical about the honesty of men who call themselves religious.  My experience with ‘professors’ has not been very encouraging.  As a general thing I find them quite as greedy for gain as other men.  We outside people of the world get to be very sharp-sighted.  When a man sets himself up to be of better quality than we, and calls himself by a name significant of heavenly virtue, we judge him, naturally, by his own standard, and watch him very closely.  If he remain as hard, as selfish, as exacting, and as eager after money as before, we do not put much faith in his profession, and are very apt to class him with hypocrites.  His praying, and fine talk about faith, and heavenly love, and being washed from all sin, excite in us contempt rather than respect.  We ask for good works, and are never satisfied with anything else.  By their fruits ye shall know them.”

On the next Sunday I saw Mr. Gray in church.  My eyes were on him when he entered.  I noticed that all the lines of his face were drawn down, and that the whole aspect and bearing of the man were solemn and devotional.  He moved to his place with a slow step, his eyes cast to the floor.  On taking his seat, he leaned his head on the pew in front of him, and continued for nearly a minute in prayer.  During the services I heard his voice in the singing; and through the sermon, he maintained the most fixed attention.  It was communion Sabbath; and he remained, after the congregation was dismissed, to join in the holiest act of worship.

“Can this man be indeed self-deceived?” I asked myself, as I walked homeward.  “Can he really believe that heaven is to be gained by pious acts alone?  That every Sabbath evening he can pitch his tent a day’s march nearer heaven, though all the week he have failed in the commonest offices of neighborly love?”

It so happened, that I had many opportunities for observing Mr. Gray, who, after joining the church, became an active worker in some of the public and prominent charities of the day.  He contributed liberally in many cases, and gave a good deal of time to the prosecution of benevolent enterprises, in which men of some position were concerned.  But, when I saw him dispute with a poor gardener who had laid the sods in his yard, about fifty cents, take sixpence off of a weary strawberry woman, or chaffer with his boot-black over an extra shilling, I could not think that it was genuine love for his fellow-men that prompted his ostentatious charities.

In no instance did I find any better estimation of him in business circles; for his religion did not chasten the ardor of his selfish love of advantage in trade; nor make him more generous, nor more inclined to help or befriend the weak and the needy.  Twice I saw his action in the case of unhappy debtors, who had not been successful in business.  In each case, his claim was among the smallest; but he said more unkind things, and was the hardest to satisfy, of any man among the creditors.  He assumed dishonest intention at the outset, and made that a plea for the most rigid exaction; covering his own hard selfishness with offensive cant about mercantile honor, Christian integrity, and religious observance of business contracts.  He was the only man among all the creditors, who made his church membership a prominent thing—­few of them were even church-goers—­and the only man who did not readily make concessions to the poor, down-trodden debtors.

“Is he a Christian?” I asked, as I walked home in some depression of spirits, from the last of these meetings.  And I could but answer No—­for to be a Christian is to be Christ-like.

“As ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.”  This is the divine standard.  “Ye must be born again,” leaves to us no latitude of interpretation.  There must be a death of the old, natural, selfish loves, and a new birth of spiritual affections.  As a man feels, so will he act.  If the affections that rule his heart be divine affections, he will be a lover of others, and a seeker of their good.  He will not be a hard, harsh, exacting man in natural things, but kind, forbearing, thoughtful of others, and yielding.  In all his dealings with men, his actions will be governed by the heavenly laws of justice and judgment.  He will regard the good of his neighbor equally with his own.  It is in the world where Christian graces reveal themselves, if they exist at all.  Religion is not a mere Sunday affair, but the regulator of a man’s conduct among his fellow-men.  Unless it does this, it is a false religion, and he who depends upon it for the enjoyment of heavenly felicities in the next life, will find himself in miserable error.  Heaven cannot be earned by mere acts of piety, for heaven is the complement of all divine affections in the human soul; and a man must come into these—­must be born into them—­while on earth, or he can never find an eternal home among the angels of God.  Heaven is not gained by doing, but by living.